My Giant and Me (A Fluffy Pony Hugbox Story) Part 11

My Giant and Me, Part 11

>Everyone hugs, sobbing in relief or in heart-break, as heads are counted and the lost are mourned.
>Three stallions dead ... and now Fern ... nobody could say that they loved Fern, but she was still a member of the Herd. A mother. A sister. A daughter.
>Be the Green Stallion, and you're looking at Fern, who is curled up inside a box ... you'd almost swear she was just deep asleep.
>But the horrible, lung-churning ammonia stench of a Tom-Cat fills the air strong enough that several of the weaker Fluffies immediately began to throw up, and Fern's head is twisted at an angle that would be impossible if she wasn't having the Longest Sleep.
>So the Herd, now reunited with all the surviving Stallions, shuffles away, knowing full well that to touch a Cat-Munsta's victim is to invite the wrath of the cruel, sleek predator upon everyone else.
>Shuffles away, towards the place where the Smarty Friend once led them into the Garden, and where they hope they can recover their foals.
>"Baybehs ... Mumma fin' yuu soon." You hear one of the Mares whisper softly, and she's not the only one promising her distant offspring safety and love. Everyone is desperate to reclaim their children from that Garden, and the Giant Fluffy Munsta that lives there.
>Nobody can focus on being free of the Smarty Friend, not with their precious, precious children trapped in a Hoomin's Garden with a Giant Dog-Munsta.
>For all they know, the Smarty Friend is the only thing keeping their babies alive and safe, hiding them in the bushes and behind the rocks, but nobody really believes that.
>They know their Smarty Friend all too well.

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>Be the Owner of Silk and Bruce, sitting on the steps of your porch, a lap full of dozing Fluffy Foals, safe and at peace, while somewhat older Fluffies chase each other, and your idiot Saint Bernard, around the yard.
>Not a bad way to spend Saturday afternoon, all things considered.
>Silk's loving the company, Cowbell and the other Fluffies were somewhat shy around Bruce at first, but for once your gangly, clumsy Saint Bernard is actually in control of his own limbs.
>Not one skittled Fluffy, which amazes you, given how eager the Fluffies are to stay near Bruce, and how keen Bruce is to play chase with the Fluffies.
>Bruce waits until the Fluffies are half-way across the yard before chasing after they, barking happily and licking as many Fluffies as he can catch, then runs back to his side of the yard and flops down onto his belly, tail pounding on the grass with excitement.
>Giggling, the Fluffies rush over to him, bury him in hugs, then repeat the game. It's a cute, retarded version of Tag, you guess.
>Still, there's something ...
>OH SHIT! How could you have forgotten?
>"Siiiiiiiilk! Daddy needs to check on something, please come back!" You yell, and your little red Fluffy perks up and rushes over to you, Cowbell and a couple of the older Fluffies following in her wake, babbling to each other.
>"Daddy nee' nummies?" Silk asks innocently, hopping up the steps to rub her face along your thigh. "Is oh'tay, Siwk haf big pway wit' Bwuce, an' he haf many fwiends now, wotsa pway fo' Bwuce!"
>"Uh, yeah, food. Yeah, thanks Silk, thanks Cowbell." You say, trying not to sound panicked as you gently deposit the sleepy babies from your lap onto the backs of the two Mares, and rush inside the house.
>Jesus fucking Bhudda on a Park Swing! You've left the two bitchy Ferals, that Pink Rapist and the White Foal-Stealer, tied together in your shed, in this heat? JESUS!
>You'll be lucky if they haven't been cooked like dumplings in a steamer! Food and water you left for them, but there's no insulation in that shed, it'd be like a sauna in there!
>Fill a tupperware container full of water straight from the tap, grab an apple from Silk's treat-bowl in the fridge, and rush out the laundry door on the other side of the house so the Fluffies don't see you, making a bee-line for the shed, and as you fling the door open ...

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>"HEWE!" You shout, the Green Feral Stallion who is currently leading your Herd towards their babies.
>The soil is newly turned, but hard-packed as the other Stallions claimed, and the Herd stands clustered around the opening, torn by indecision.
>Over the fence, they can hear the happy squeals and laughter of their Foals ... and the barking of a Dog-Munsta. Happy barking.
>Are their precious Foals ... playing with a Munsta? Is it safe for the adults to try to find a way in? But the Dog-Munsta was so big, and so angry when the Smarty Friend and the Bad Mumma tried to hurt the Red Mare.
>What if it's still mad at the Stallions? What if the Munsta is only pretending to be nice, like most Hoomins do, pretending to be the friends of the Herds before hurting them or capturing them to take the Fluffies away to the Forever-in-cages-and-afraid place?
>But it's your babies in there!
>So with much whispering and promises, the Stallions begin to dig, barely moving the earth at all, but they dig, and they dig, crying as their soft hooves begin to blister and tear, while the Mares wait impatiently behind them for their turn at digging or move to push the dirt from behind the Stallions even further away, all the while shouting to their babies that they are coming, to please be brave.
>After several minutes, the Stallions have dug down, creating a hole almost as deep as they are tall, but the dirt is streaked with their blood, and the Stallions all have tears in their eyes as their soft hooves rip and tear, and the Mares leap forwards to drag them out of the hole, licking the Stallions' hooves to try and clear the dirt from the injuries, as still more Mares jump into the whole and start to dig themselves.
>"Baybehs, baybehs, Mummas comin' soon!" They begin to chant, as the dirt under the fence finally begins to oh-so-slowly crumble under their assault.

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>Be the Owner, staring at one of the most sickening things you've ever seen.
>The water-bowl is tipped over and bone dry, the kibble's all scattered across the floor and has been stomped to dust, and there's blood and fluff all over the bottom of the cage.
>The two 'troublemakers' are screaming at the top of their lungs at each other, spinning around and around, the Stallion making humping noises, the Mare with her tail lifted into the air even as they shriek obscenities at each other.
>Shit, turns out that the Mare was going into heat ... trapped together, there's no way for them to consumate, so  the surge of hormones, the heat and the lack of water has driven them insane with unquenchable lust.
>"EEENF EEENF DUMMY EEENF BAD MUMMA EEENF GET UNDA EEENF SMAWTY!" The Smarty Friend howls, trying to jump up and over the Mare from the side, but tied together, all he does is slam the Mare into the wire walls of the cage, and you wince as you see the wire slick with sweat, torn fluff and what you think is blood.
>"DUMMY BAYBE-EEEEIGH! BAYBEH'S BAYBE-EEEIGH-BEHS, WAN' BAYBEHS, NU EEEEIGH BAYBEH'S BAYBEHS!" The 'Bad Mumma' squeals back, babbling as she shoves back against the Smarty Friend, apparently trying to get under him, slamming him in turn into the wire walls, which rip off the gooey scabs where his tail used to be and tear knots of sweaty fluff off the Smarty's flanks. Dummy Baby? Want Babies, but not Babies-Babies? What?
>The stifling temperature in the shed and the flood of hormones must have fried her brain. And the Pink bastard's ... well, being true to form.
>Sighing, you reach for an old, rusty wrench, a big heavy one, open the door to their cage, and right the water-bowl.
>They're so busy trying to get at each other they don't even notice.
>Refill the water-bowl and place the wrench across the flanged base of the bowl, hoping it's heavy enough to stop the two idiots from flipping their water over again, drop the apple on the wire floor, and reach for your pocket-knife with your free hand.
>Grabbing the two squirming, stinky Fluffies is easy given that they are totally focused on each other, but keeping a firm grip on them while they wriggle and squirm and complain is harder, especially since you are trying to not hurt them, but with just a few passes, you've removed the duct-tape bindings.
>Step back, shut the cage-door and leave. You need to wash your hands ... and they'll keep each other occupied until tomorrow, when you can drop them off to the Shelter for Abandoned Fluffies.
>The shed door shuts to the loud 'eenfs' and 'eeeighs' of the Fluffies, and you rush back to the laundry, to wash your hands off and hopefully apply some sort of scenting agent to get that horrificly sweet-and-rank stench of a Fluffy Pony in heat off your clothes before you go out to deal with the other Ferals again.

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>Be Cowbell, stroking your babies' heads and sighing happily as you feel them suckling away at your teats, their tiny hooves kneading and pushing on the soft flesh surrounding the small pink nubs slowly and softly, their eyes half-closed in bliss, their tails waving in the air as they drink and drink and drink ...
>You're sooooo full of nummies and water that you think you'll burst, and your teats are so full now, even with the babies nursing for almost five minutes straight!
>After having so many litters, you remember that by now, on the second day of their lives, you'd have had to pull them away long before now, to preserve some milk-nummies for later because your Milkie-Places take so long to turn your Nummies into Milk, but ... so much food, and it's all so good, you're making so much milk now you could even feed a third baby!
>Next to you, Silk is also nursing babies, but she is nursing four babies, her two babies, the White Baby and Fern's Green baby, the latter two waiting patiently for their turn, leaning on each other as their two older friends/siblings suckle contentedly.
>And Silk's teats are even bigger than yours, round, fat and protruding well clear of her fluff. She lets the Pink and Red Babies drink, then gently touches them on their heads with her hooves and sings her Mumma-Song to them, and they smile, hug the teats and shuffle to the side, climbing up and over her splayed hind-legs, letting Green and White move in for their turn. And all without whining or complaining from a single baby ...
>The Colts and Fillies are all asleep on the grass, exhausted but happy after playing with the Doggy Not-Munsta for most of the day, some of them cuddling each other, the rest buried deep into the impossibly long and soft fluff of the Doggy Not-Munsta back and sides, who crinkles his eyes at you and thumps his tail on the ground, but doesn't move an inch otherwise.
>The Hoomin says that's how the Doggy Not-Munsta shows he's happy, since he can't speak and doesn't want to startle the Fluffies by barking, as he's enjoying having so many hugs.
>The Hoomin and Silk explained that the Doggy Not-Munsta's Mumma had not liked him, because the Doggy Not-Munsta was born too small as well, and thus he liked having Fluffies around to give him love. You were so sad, even Munstas had Bad Babies ... the Fillies and Colts bawled, and piled onto the Doggy Not-Munsta to give him hugs and assure him he was a Good 'Hono'wawy Fwuffie'.
>You don't understand why the Hoomin couldn't stop laughing! Poor Doggy Not-Munsta! Still, at least Silk's Hoomin is helping and holding the Orange and Purple babies in his hands while you feed your babies.
>Dirty, miserable, hungry and now hopefully chastised, you'll let them drink their fill after your babies have done so first. They have to learn to share, and they'll never learn without some Tough Love from you, not with the way that their Dummy Mumma let them walk all over everyone else!
>"Dwink, baybehs." You whisper to your two precious children, smiling as their eyes close fully, feeling their suckling grow slow and irregular as they start to drift off to sleep. "Dwink an' haf guud dweams. Dis is safe pwace fo' Fwuffies, yuu can dwink an' sweepies an' pway hewe ...."
>But you can't stay in this Safe Place forever. And you know most Hoomins are not as nice and forgiving as Silk's Hoomin. Many yell at your Herd for eating their grass, or making not-pretties in their gardens. Some even chase after the Herd to try and make everyone have the Longest Sleep.
>But ... is it worth it? To give up on being free, and go to the place where Silk's Hoomins says you might get a Hoomin of your own, to love you, cuddle you and protect your babies, all in exchange for you loving them back?
>Maybe some of the prettier Fillies and Colts might be able to charm a Hoomin into letting them into their Safe Places ... but will the younger Fluffies want to leave their friends and siblings?
>It's an open secret to every Feral, that everyone wants to find that one magical Hoomin that will love and accept them, but the Herd's history is full of stories of Hoomins doing all in their power to hurt and terrorize the Fluffies, and every Fluffy Mumma worth her teats tells her Foals from the moment they can speak their first words the history of the Herd, so that Fluffies don't have to make the same mistakes as their Mummas and Fathas did.
>"Hey, Cowbell, how're the babies doing?" Silk's Hoomin asks softly, reaching down to stroke your head, making you sigh and shiver as a half-understood need you've never known you had is satisfied. "Do you need more food? Water? Are you ready for the two little trouble-makers, or did you want me to feed them this time?"
>But you know, you will be adding a new story to the Herd's history. A Story about a Dog-Munsta who was a Not-Munsta, and a Red Fluffy Mumma who had a kind Hoomin friend.

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>Be the Owner of Silk and Bruce, taking care of Cowbell's two foals as she lets the two 'motherless' Foals drink for the first time since mid-day.
>It's been about ... four hours, you'd guess, since Cowbell banished them to those shallow little holes in your garden, but Fern's two troublesome Foals are still fat as butter, even after peeing and pooping and damn near pushing themselves out of their Sorry Holes in the process.
>Jesus, that was horrific ... they were almost free of the dirt, but they'd gummed up their belly and leg fur so much they were almost glued into place. The stench was terrible, and they just loved getting bathed again.
>Had to clean them with a hose, was no way in hell you were taking them back inside like that. Still, you had help from the other Ferals, who grabbed the Foals as soon as the bulk of the shit had been washed off, and began rolling the Foals in the grass to get the rest.
>And, predicatably, the two Bitchy Foals pitched an absolute fit at their treatment ... yet not a fuck was given by the other Ferals. Meanie Babies indeed!
>Cowbell assured you that with as much milk as the babies had gotten, they wouldn't need to nurse for a long time yet, but still, you were worried. The Colts and Fillies under Cowbell's care didn't much care for these two Foals, and when you asked why, the Feral Mare explained that most of them were Foals who had grown up enduring Fern's milk-sharing strategy.
>Cowbell's not particularly happy about the antics of the Foals, however. They're nursing like champions, but you can see the two Foals glaring at each other, and it's only Cowbell's threat to make them sleep in their now poop-filled Sorry Holes if they don't behave that keeps them from trying to bump each other off the teats.
>Maybe they need to separated perman-whoop!
>There they go. The front legs of the two Foals that are closest to each other start to flail away in the Fluffy version of a slap-fight even as the two Foals suckle like they are getting paid, before Cowbell yelps in pain and surprise, then scowling in anger, she leans down and bops both Foals on the head.
>"W-Wat is yuu twu .... aaaaah! Yuu dummies, why yuu be su mean tu each otha? Meanie Baybehs!" She snaps, then pushes them away from her teats, making both babies cry and try to push back against her hooves with their heads. "Yuu was towd tu be Guud Baybehs! Nu fite each otha, nu bite miwkie-pwaces!"
>"Fewn's baybehs stiww bein' Meanie?" A Filly asks in surprise, shuffling up to look at the babies, and then Cowbell. "Wan' Fwuffie put dem bawk in Sowwy Howes?"
>Cowbell sighs ... and then her ears flick forwards, and she blinks, then grins.
>"Nu, Cowbeww haf betta idea. Bwing Cowbeww otha' Foaws dat nu haf miwk-nummies yet." Cowbell replies, still keeping the two surly, misbehaving Foals pushed away from each other, and more importantly her teats. "Dese baybehs gon' see how Guud Fwuffies shawe!"
>Interested to see what Cowbell's idea is, you hang back and say nothing as every other young Fluffy in the group shuffles over, and Cowbell starts waving her front legs in the air and explaining what she wants them, and then you, to do.
>Well. Holy shit. For a Fluffy, that's genius at work.
>Two lines of not-quite-fillies or -colts in front of Cowbell, while an older Filly looks on, holding both Bitchy Foals to the ground with her front-hooves, so they can't get at each other or turn away from Cowbell.
>"Dis is how yuu be Guud Fwuffie!" Cowbell declares loudly. "Ev'wy wittwe Fwuffie can haf twu mouf's of miwk, den gif huggies an' pway nicewy wit' each othat! Show dese Meanie Baybehs how be Guud Fwuffie, show dem yuu shawe, an' be guud tu each otha!"
>Two milk-bottles, filled with fresh, warm, sugar-sweetened formula, are held on their sides by two of the oldest Colts, so that the not-quite-Fillies and -Colts can walk up the stairs and drink a mouthful or two, then climb back down to run in circles around Bruce, laughing and squealing happily.
>And so it goes, at least at first, without any complaining or shoving, only a few gentle cautions from Cowbell towards the more rambunctious Fluffies, but as time goes by, the two Bitchy Foals start to get louder and more irritating as they watch their precious milk disappear a mouthful at a time to other Fluffies.
>"MIIIIIIIIIIIWK!" The Orange Foal whines loudly, loud enough for Bruce to wake up from his nap, loud enough to make you wince at the shrillness of the cry. "Gif miwk! GIF MIWK! MIIIIIWK! Best Baybeh Miwkies!"
>Man, for something only two days old, she's got a set of lungs on her!
>"Nu! Baybeh was Meanie, nu get moaw miwk tiww Owange be Guud an' Shawe an' be nice tu otha Fwuffies!" Cowbell yells back, puffing her cheeks, as the rest of her 'Herd' finally finishes their little display ... and there's the milk bottles, with only a few mouthfuls left. "Wittwe Fwuffies come back an' haf west of Nu-Yuu-Mumma Miwkies, den go haf sweepies in Doggy Not-Munsta's sweepie pwace, Cowbeww haf' tu deaw wit' Meanie Baybehs."
>You're so focused on watching the older Colts help some of the younger Fluffies get back up the steps, smiling at the consideration they show as they lie on the on the back-halfs of the steps so the littler Fluffies have a smaller, Fluffier 'step' to climb up on, that you don't notice what the Purple 'bitchy' Foal is up to.
>With Orange screaming her head off, nobody's really paying attention, especially not the Filly holding them both down, who is looking up to the sky, ears laid back and rolling her eyes in disgust at the tantrum.
>Squinty eyed and puff-cheeked, Purple slowly, ever so slowly, lifts his tail and ....
>Prsssssssssssht!
>"Waah! NUUUU!" The Filly shrieks in alarm as a thin stream of 'Sorry Poopies' sprays on her underside, making her flinch away from the source of the stench and the damp addition to her Fluff, and partially squash Orange under her shifting weight, whose angry tirade of 'Mine!', 'Miwkies!' and 'GIF!' finished with a startled squeak and more 'sorry poopies' for the unfortunate Filly, much to her distress.
>For something so small and awkward, Purple's off like a shot, toddling for his life to the steps ... and that's where his plan falls through.
>As a newborn, Purple is barely bigger than a man's thumb. The steps to your porch are easily twice that height off the ground and each other.
>So you get to see Purple stand up on his hind legs and wail at the step with his legs held up as far as he can reach, yet so comically far away, angrily peeping and shouting "Meanie!" at the inanimate wooden plank as the Filly who was holding him down runs away to roll on the grass and get rid of the Sorry Poopies in her fluff, and Orange lies on her belly, trying to get the wind back into her lungs.
>You'd ask Cowbell what she plans to do next, but the look on her face makes you decide that's a bad idea.
>Time to go inside for a few minutes ... you know that look, you saw it on your own mother's face when you well and truly fucked up.
>You'll leave Silk out here to see how Fluffy Mothering is handled ... and Bruce too, for support.
>You're not certain you want to see what's going to happen next.

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>Dig. Dig dig. Dig dig dig dig dig di...
>There's the entrance! THERE! The last of the dirty has falled away, and you can see daylight from the hole under the fence!
>You all had to dig very long, and very deep, but once you got under the fence, it was just a case of digging, letting the the dirt from the other side of the hole fall down and using leaves, pieces of paper and whatever other garbage you could find to scoop the dirt up and out of the hole...
>Be the Green Feral Stallion, and your hooves are bruised and scraped almost down to the flesh, but finally, your Herd has dug their way back into the Garden!
>"Baybehs, we be dere soon!" The Mares behind you cheer, hugging each other, and the Stallions.
>Almost everyone has sore, chafed, bleeding hooves, but it's worth it. The Garden is open to your Herd again.
>You'll all quietly sneak into the hole, hide behind the bushes and wait till it's safe to creep back onto the grass and take your babies ho...
>"MUMMA COMIN', BAYBEHS!" One Mare bellows at the top of her lungs, then leaps into the hole and flattens you under her weight, making all the air leave your body before she squashes you further, pushing herself under the fence and you into the dirt before scrabbling up into the yard.
>"N-nu! Mus' wait, Doggy Munsta stiw-WAAAAAAAAAAAGH!" You groan, trying to get back up onto your leggies, and then half the fluffing Mares try to jump down into the hole at once, squashing you and completely blocking the hole as they all wedge into the small opening, legs flailing in the air, faces squashed together!
>This isn't going so well ...